


Sincerity is Scary

by thoughtsappear



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cats, Depression, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Episode: s04e05 Escape From the Happy Place, Injury Recovery, M/M, Making Out, Peaches and Plums, Post Season 4, Recovery, Therapy, ambien, farmer's markets are srs bsns, lots of 4.5 references too, mosaic references, smoothies, sponsored by the peach counsel of america
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-27 15:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsappear/pseuds/thoughtsappear
Summary: Quentin takes care of Eliot, a cat, and finally himself.





	Sincerity is Scary

Eliot was back, but Quentin still felt like he was waiting for his best friend to return. They’d pulled the monster out of him weeks ago, and Eliot had taken a day to sleep and get a haircut, and burn all his old t-shirts, and then he had brushed himself off, and insisted to everyone who would listen that what would make him happiest would be if everyone acted like normal. 

It was one of those things they did collectively, because as much time as they’d spent on the Monster, no one really wanted to spend anymore. So they all pretended everything was hunky-dory, and they all huddled around Eliot like he’d been there the whole time. 

Quentin had a harder time getting back to normal. A dangerous killer had been wearing Eliot’s face, and there had been times he had been convinced Eliot was never coming back. The monster had told him, in his cold detached way, that Eliot was dead. Quentin had already been so defeated, by everything going on in his life, that he had just let himself go numb. There had been some dark nights for Quentin, times when he had considered giving up the fight completely. He felt guilty about it, but at the same time, he was working so hard to try to get his friend back, and for what?

He was back now, and he was doing his best to pretend Quentin didn’t exist. They hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to each other, mostly pleasantries, little wisps of information, and they hadn’t been alone together at all. Quentin couldn’t help but think about the time Eliot broke through the monster to let Quentin know he was still inside. The specific choice of words, he knew exactly what to say to let Quentin know it was really him. And those words had the power to make Quentin hope for something, but they also had the power to devastate.

Quentin had expected something like this, not being sure if Eliot would be his old self again even if he got his body back. He smelled like Eliot, and he sounded like Eliot, and he dressed like Eliot, but there were times when Quentin would space out, and look up and see the monster in his place. He had accepted this, even if it occasionally made him shudder.

Quentin did his best to stay involved and kept a close eye on Alice, who seemed fragile and Julia who seemed a little disconnected. He watched the way she looked at Penny and the way he looked back, and even more he noticed the way Kady looked at Penny when she thought no one could see. But he could tell what she was thinking. It was the same things he was thinking when he looked at Eliot. That same pain, the same longing. He wondered if anyone could tell that being this close to Eliot after everything was slowly killing him.

It was almost like he and Eliot had traded places, and now he was wearing the body of Quentin Coldwater, but inside was a mad, childish, brooding demon of a man. He looked at his friends and all he could think was, _I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate everything. You’re not a good magician, you’re a bad boyfriend, Alice hates you, you got her killed once, you cheated on her, and Eliot doesn’t want you._

That one really stung, almost more than some of the really horrible things. Alice had found ways to bite back, and she’d inflicted her share of pain on him, but Eliot, well Eliot had bitten harder and sharper than anyone else. 

Quentin suffered in silence, hating himself, and hating his situation. He took the most risks he could, he didn’t care if he hurt himself, he didn’t worry about his own safety. Threw himself in front of anyone he could. Sometimes, he could see the look in Julia’s eyes, that she was worried about him, that she was judging him. He hated that pitying look she tossed his way, the way she wanted to say something but either couldn’t or wouldn’t make the effort.

Sometimes he wished someone would call him out on his behavior. Was he really hiding it so well? He couldn’t possibly be that good of an actor? But then he’d been hiding his depression for over twenty years now, so it was second nature to go on when everything hurt from every angle. 

When someone finally said something, he was relieved, even though it wasn’t Julia like he was expecting. It was Margo.

Quentin wasn’t close with Margo. She’d spent so much time away from him in Fillory, and in the past whenever they’d spent time together, Eliot had been there as a buffer. Even though he’d had sex with her, he still felt intimidated and frankly, scared of her. Now, she’d seen him at his lowest, and while he thought she didn’t know him very well, she was showing that she knew him better than people he’d spent twice as long with.

She grabbed him by the arm, dragged him off to get coffees during a late night spell study session. Eliot was still confined to a bed, but he appeared annoyed when she didn’t go for him, but a quick look in his direction seemed to explain the situation. Eliot and Margo had a special code that no one else could decipher.

While they sat at a table, drinking double shot iced lattes, she stomped on his foot, and set her steely brown eyes upon him.

“You’re fucked up Coldwater.”

Quentin stared back at her, grasping for a response. Various protests died on his lips and he stuttered nonsense for a minute before he finally acquiesced. He shrugged and nodded, watching Margo’s unflinching gaze as she sipped at her coffee. Behind them, a barista in a stained apron swept straw crumbles under a table. 

“I’ve always been fucked up,” he said. Margo just laughed at him, and he felt her high heeled boot against his sneaker under the table. She closed her lips around the straw, and he could see her dark brown lipstick had left a mark.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and Quentin began to fidget. Margo made him anxious, and she enjoyed his discomfort. She swung her foot again, and it connected with his ankle, enough to make him hold still.

“I’m not debating that,” she said, giving him a smirk. “But you are extra fucked up lately, and I seem to be the only one who notices that you are about two inches from a 72 hour hold.”

Quentin bristled a little at her phrasing and focused his eyes on the balled up napkins on the table. Margo continued talking, indifferent to his reaction.

“You really need to start spending time with people a little less self-involved.”

“Like you?” Quentin replied, meaning it sarcastically, but unsurprised when Margo didn’t take it that way.

“Listen honey, there were times when we were fighting the monster that I was pretty sure Julia and Penny didn’t care how we won as long as we did. I knew that you and I were the only ones who wanted Eliot back more than we wanted the monster gone.”

Quentin looked up from the table and considered her. She sounded softer at the mention of Eliot, but also strained. She’d been his primary caretaker since he’d regained his body, and for the first time he saw the toll it was taking on her. The fact that she’d pulled herself away from his side to tend to him was significant. 

“Okay so, what is this?” Quentin said, leaning back in his chair, and folding his arms in front of his chest. “Are you giving me a week to get my shit together before you have me committed?”

Margo finished her drink. “This isn’t an intervention. It’s more like a ‘get your shit together before you get yourself hurt’ talk.”

Margo pulled out her purse and dug around inside, before retrieving a small item, sight unseen. She placed it on the table and slid it across to him. It was a pill in a blister package. He stared at it, trying to figure out what it was. Nothing familiar.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her legs. “It’s a sleeping pill for fuck’s sake. I’m not trying to roofie you or fry your brain.”

“I don’t need this,” he said, but his voice was missing a lot of strength.

“You’re adorable,” she said, getting up from the chair. “I know you don’t sleep. Take one of these tonight, and you’ll sleep like a baby. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Quentin waited while she put on her coat, and he picked up the empty cups and debris from the table and deposited it into the nearest garbage can. 

Margo didn’t wait and she was already at the door when he finished. She tugged her coat up around her neck and he fell into step beside her. 

“I know that a night’s sleep isn’t going to un-fuck you,” she said after they’d taken a few steps. 

Quentin just nodded his head. He didn’t really feel like having a long and thorough discussion of his mental health with Margo at this juncture. He concentrated on moving one foot in front of the other, and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

“I know what’s really bothering you,” she added, stopping at a crosswalk. The light from the street lamps gave her face an angelic glow. He was amazed at how innocent and youthful Margo could manage to look, especially when she wasn't saying anything. 

He shrugged his shoulders, keeping his hands shoved into his pockets. He knew what she was going to say, and he braced himself to hear it. 

“It’s you and Alice, isn’t it?” she said. Quentin tripped over a rock in his loss of concentration.

That was not what he expected her to say. Since he and Alice had returned from Brakebills south, they’d settled into a truce. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but they were able to regain some trust in each other, and he felt like they were starting to become better friends.

“Alice and I are fine,” he said, for lack of a better word. “There’s history, sure, but it’s just that, history.”

“Oh Q, you sweet little idiot,” Margo said as she crossed the street. The light had left, and her expression and tone of voice dissolved any angelic tendency she’d had. Quentin walked a step behind, and blinked car lights out of his vision.

“It doesn’t take my fairy eye to know that bitch has it for you bad, say those two little words and she’d forgive you for everything.”

Quentin frowned and swallowed hard. The taste of his coffee still lingered on his tongue and made him want to brush his teeth to get the staleness out.

“I don’t want Alice,” he said. The words were far too inelegant for the situation, but he knew explaining it to Margo was a bad idea. She’d be sympathetic, but he couldn’t trust her not to meddle. 

“Let me say this to you in language even you can understand,” Margo said. “If you can’t sleep, your brain starts to eat itself. If you can’t fuck, your brain starts to become a garbage pile. So you’re not sleeping and you’re not fucking, so you’ve got a landfill for a brain.”

Quentin couldn’t help but laugh. In her quest to be sarcastic, she made up an analogy that ended up being more complicated than necessary. He stepped over a muddy puddle and caught her expression. She was unamused which only made him laugh more. 

“I’m not gonna have sex with Alice just to ‘take the garbage out’.”

Margo sighed and pulled him by the arm to avoid being hit by a closely passing car.

“Well, I’m not having sex with you. My garbage can is empty and I don’t think you have any other options in the house. Julia is off-limits and I’m pretty sure Kady would smother you.”

Quentin just kept laughing. The whole idea was so ridiculous. Did Margo really think that he’d sleep with Alice? Did she really think that Alice would be okay with it? It sounded like one of the worst ideas she’d ever had. Margo didn’t usually have bad ideas.

They performed the spell to unlock the wards outside and then did the special knock at the door. Kady had insisted they put these safeguards in effect, and they’d actually been very useful keeping them safe. Kady was at the door, which made Margo snicker and punch him quite bluntly on the bicep.

Then she threw her purse and coat down on the nearest chair and hissed,“Take the fucking pills Coldwater.”

He wondered why she’d pumped him full of caffeine if she was going to try to knock him out the next moment, but he simply shook off the thought, and walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

==

For the last few weeks they’d all subsisted on microwave burritos, k cups, potato chips, hot pockets, stale bread and the occasional delivery pizza. They’d all been under so much stress from taking care of Eliot and trying to figure out what to do next, that they’d let certain things go. Margo complained the carbs were doing horrible things to her waistline, but she also made no effort to do anything other than veto onions on the pizzas. The food was comforting to Quentin, low effort, bland, and soft. It was the kind of things he ate in his junior year, when any effort beyond unwrapping a food shaped lump and setting a timer was too much to handle. Julia seemed to tolerate it at first, but then he noticed more and more the way her nose turned up when her stomach growled and all within reach was Penny’s half eaten bag of funyuns. 

Quentin thought he’d been transported to a new place when after a long night of not sleeping, he smelled fresh coffee and heard the blender running. He stumbled into the kitchen and saw Julia surrounded by fruits and vegetables. So many colors. He’d forgotten food came in colors other than white and orange. She smiled at him and shoved what looked like spinach into the concoction she was mixing.

“I thought we could use some vitamins,” she said brightly. Quentin nodded in response and dug in the cabinet for his Garfield coffee mug. It was faded and chipped and he’d repaired it from total breakage twice already, but it was still his favorite. 

“You want a smoothie?” she asked, pouring the green sludge into her glass. He hoped it tasted better than it looked. 

“I’m not really into the green thing,” he said, jumping up on a stool to drink his coffee. He wasn’t a coffee snob, but he could tell this was better than the kind Kady had been stocking. 

“How about some fresh fruit then,” she continued. She moved aside some scraps and showed him what else she’d bought. “I got some strawberries, bananas and peaches.”

She offered him what appeared to be a ripe peach. She had to know it had always been his favorite fruit. He could practically taste the juice dripping off his chin. He started to reach for it, when an image flashed into his head. That day at the park, blood from a stone, the way Eliot had looked at him, the way he’d smiled.

_Peaches and plums motherfucker._

He drew back suddenly, unable to taste anything but ash in his mouth.

_Peaches and plums. Proof of concept. 50 years._

“I’m not really hungry,” Quentin said, setting down his coffee cup. It was nearly full and he poured it down the sink, unable to stomach another sip. “I’ll tell the others though. I know Margo will be happy to have a break from chips and burritos.”

“Are you okay?” Julia asked. She was looking at him sideways, in that frustrating way where she seemed to be looking inside. “You look a little upset.”

“Just tired,” he said, and hurried out before she could say anything else. 

==

Quentin was falling asleep in his book when a timer started to go off on Margo’s phone. She had timer’s set up for Eliot’s meds, his appointments, and she was micromanaging his care with painstaking efficiency. The only problem was Margo wasn’t there. She’d gone off with Kady about an hour before, and told Quentin to check on Eliot. She must have forgotten he was due for some kind of intervention. Quentin put down his book and crossed into the hallway, listening for Eliot. He’d been napping all afternoon.

“Hey,” he said, poking his head into the room. Eliot was awake and squirming in the bed. “One of Margo’s alarms went off, do you need something?”

“Oh, I think it’s time for my bandage to be changed, but I can wait for Bambi,” Eliot said, wincing as he sat up against the headboard. 

“I can do it,” Quentin said, moving into the room and walking toward the nightstand that was set up as a makeshift first aid station. Gauze, scissors, tape and various other supplies were strewn about, and he took a moment to locate everything. He had no idea what he was really doing. He grabbed a piece of cloth, some tape and some scissors and approached Eliot, who was unbuttoning his sleep shirt.

Quentin set the supplies on the bed and gingerly reached towards Eliot’s abdomen. He began tugging at the edges of the bandage, trying his best to get the tape up without hurting Eliot, who was grimacing anyway.

“Margo usually just does a quick release spell,” Eliot said, after Quentin had been struggling with the tape for a few minutes.

Quentin let out a sigh of relief. Of course, magic. He hadn’t even considered it. He performed the popper, and watched the pieces of tape release themselves. Then he lifted off the bandage.

Quentin had been there when Margo had hit him with the axe. He’d seen the impact, and he’d known that it was brutal. He’d been so busy performing the bond, that he’d had no time to look at the wound. But there it was, a long jagged gash in his stomach, sewn up with black stitches. The wound moved up and down with his breaths and Quentin almost felt sick. 

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Eliot gave him a little smirk. 

“I’m sorry, Margo usually…”

“Get the alcohol off the table,” Eliot directed. “And some of those little cotton pads. Then come disinfect my stitches.”

Quentin did as he was told, and only hesitated a moment before pressing the cotton to Eliot’s abdomen. It seemed like it should be more intimate, due to the fact, Eliot had his shirt open and his pants drawn down, but Quentin focused on the fact it wasn’t his bare hand touching Eliot’s skin. Eliot hissed as the alcohol soaked cotton touched his wounds.

“Sorry,” Quentin said, pausing with his hand an inch above Eliot’s skin.

“It’s okay,” Eliot said through clenched teeth. “Just stings like a bitch. Not your fault.”

Quentin stared at him for a moment, as Eliot worked through the pain and relaxed his body. Then he finished the job, pitching the cotton round into the trash can. 

“Now what?” he asked, standing in front of Eliot with his hands on his hips.

“Get some of the bandage, and cut a piece about, yay big.” Eliot demonstrated with his hands. “Then you tape it to my gut. Then you get me a vodka rocks.”

“Okay,” Quentin said, already unrolling the cloth, and trying to judge the right size. He struggled a little with the scissors, before using a tut he’d learned to cut wrapping paper, but also worked on cloth. 

“Put gloves on,” Eliot prompted, as Quentin approached him with the piece of bandage. Quentin struggled with the gloves that were apparently sized for Margo, because they barely fit over his hands. Eliot held the bandage in place, and Quentin taped it down, having a little trouble with cutting the tape as well. He finished placing the last piece of tape and smoothed the fabric of the bandage, running a gloved hand over Eliot’s stomach, caught up in the moment before he realized the intimacy of the situation. 

“Thanks,” Eliot said, pulling his shirt closed over the bandage and then tugging the blankets over his lap. Quentin began backing out of the room when Eliot cleared his throat. “Hey Q?”

Quentin stopped in his tracks and took a step forward. “What?”

Eliot reached over to the small table besides his bed and grabbed a pair of round glasses with tortoiseshell rims. Quentin had never seen him in glasses before, and he found them charming. They made him look wise, studious and sophisticated. 

Or maybe it was the serious look on his face. He looked almost troubled, as he shifted around on the bed, trying to get comfortable. 

“I’ve been rehearsing this in my head all day,” Eliot said, his face still troubled.

“Rehearsing what?” Quentin said. 

“What I was going to say to you when we finally had a moment alone,” Eliot continued. Quentin’s insides did a twist. He’d been longing for this, but now he wasn’t sure he was ready for it. 

“Well, okay.” Quentin stood beside the bed, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. His hip was against the side table, and he jostled the water glass, but didn’t spill any. 

“I have to tell you,” Eliot said. “I don’t know what I can say that will make up for all the pain I caused, all the people I killed, all the things I did.”

Quentin definitely couldn’t hear this. He looked down at his feet, not able to see Eliot any longer.

“It wasn’t you.” Quentin shook his head. “I knew you would never--”

“Yeah but it was my hands,” Eliot said. “I can remember all of it, and I can see it from the monster’s eyes, and I can feel it, and it’s like a dream, but it’s still my hands when I open my eyes.”

He paused, reaching for the glass of water. “I hurt you, Quentin. I hate that.”

“I tried so hard,” Quentin said, looking down at Eliot’s hands. They were still so perfect, lovely long fingers, so deft and skilled. Magic seemed to flow effortlessly from them. 

“I know you did,” Eliot said. He reached one of those hands around to cup Quentin’s shoulder and give it a pat. “You tried so hard, and I know you were fighting when no one else was.”

“You were trapped inside a monster,” Quentin couldn’t help but squirm. “I knew you were alive in there.”

“I had only one chance to tell you,” Eliot said. His hand on Quentin’s shoulder was warm, even through Quentin’s t-shirt and hoodie. “I hoped you’d figure it out.”

 _Peaches and plums motherfucker_.

“We don’t have to have the big feelings chat right now,” Quentin said, starting to get anxious. “You have a lot to process.”

“No, I just have been thinking about this for a long time,” Eliot said, the hand around Quentin’s arm, growing tighter. “I need to tell you that I was wrong.”

“Okay,” Quentin said, staring at him. He had never seen that look on Eliot’s face. 

He reached over with his other hand and took Quentin’s hand. Their fingers fit so nicely and Quentin squeezed his palm. Quentin looked down at their joined hands and a rush of fear enveloped him. He tasted rotten peaches. He felt the monster’s hands around his neck. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand there any longer

“I don’t think I can do this,” Quentin began to stutter, yanking his hand out of Eliot’s. “I think I need to go.”

“No,” Eliot said, trying to reach for him. He was confined to the bed. “Let me explain--”

“Please.” Quentin held up his hand. “Just stop.” 

He had to leave the room before he lost his mind. As he did, he ran smack into Margo, who was on her way into his room. Before she could ask any questions, he just pushed right past her and kept running, hearing her muffled curse as he did.

“I’m sorry,” Eliot shouted. 

==

Quentin avoided the apartment for the rest of the day. He sat in an outdoor coffee shop mainlining mochas and smoked a pack of cigarettes. He hated how Eliot made him feel. He hated the fact that he didn’t hate Eliot, he hated the way he always wanted to give in. Eliot had a way to make him feel two inches tall, so small, so insignificant, so unsure and like such a fool. He doubted his feelings, his thoughts, and he felt like Eliot was just standing by with a smile on his face, watching him flounder.

But the inverse was also true. Eliot also had a way of making him feel bigger, better, stronger and more powerful. When Eliot was on your team, you felt invincible, like you’d never fail, never lose. He felt confident and in charge, like he had everything under control. Eliot could even make him feel smarter, funnier and more attractive.

He hated the fact that someone out there in the world carried that much power over him. The only other people who’d ever been able to make him feel these varying degrees had been his mother, and Alice. And he’d made amends with Alice, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever have a healthy relationship with his mom. 

Quentin stayed at the coffee shop, reading an abandoned copy of The Time Traveler’s Wife and shredding napkins until he saw the baristas begin wiping up the tables next to him. Then he looked down at his phone to check the time, and saw that he had 3 missed calls from Julia, and a message from Alice. He peeled himself out of the table and stretched before trudging home. 

Alice and Julia tried to give him the third degree, but he was snippy and short with them, enough to back them off. He wanted to in his room, but Kady wanted his help with some math and some Fillory knowledge. In a way it was better than hiding in his room, because he was able to hide in plain sight. Helping Kady got his mind off what had happened that afternoon.

He felt good about what he was able to do for her until she called it a night and he was left to his own devices. 

He trudged into his room, knowing sleep was still far away. The light in Margo and Eliot’s room was on, but all other rooms were dark and quiet. He took off his jeans and hoodie, and got into bed. He didn’t have his books here, most of them were at the physical kids cottage, and at the moment he wasn’t sure where it was. But he had an idea that would solve most of his major problems at the moment, so he pulled out his phone and started searching for apartments. He could move in somewhere new, then he wouldn’t be trapped in this emotional landmine. He’d made a list of 10 worth calling when he decided to turn out the lights and stare at the ceiling for awhile. He still had Margo’s ambien in his sock drawer, but he’d been refusing to take it. There had been a couple nights when he’d been awfully close.

==

He must have fallen asleep eventually, because he woke up to the weight of someone sitting down on his bed, bumping into his knee. He was used to Kady’s dog Lulu coming and going in the middle of the night, but this was someone bigger. A person. He rolled over to his back and was a little startled to see Margo staring down at him. 

He couldn’t help but grimace, knowing what was coming next. Margo first thing in the morning was usually trouble. She nudged his foot with her hip.

“Good morning sunshine,” she said.

“Good morning,” he replied, pulling the blankets up to his chin. “Is the world ending?”

“Not exactly,” she said. She reached behind him to open the curtains. He glanced at the bedside clock. 9:23 am.

“Eliot tells me everything,” she added. “You had to know I would find out eventually.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what she was referring to. There was a whole laundry list of stuff she didn’t know about. What had he told her? And if he told her one thing, odds were he’d have told her the rest. 

But for now, he’d play dumb. “What did you find out?”

“The two of you were playing house in Fillory,” she said. When she spoke, her earrings shook and the light bounced off the tiny crystals. 

“Okay.” Quentin watched the light reflecting off his walls.

“That you asked him for a second round. That he said no. Yesterday, he asked you for a do-over, and that you said no. Does that about sum it up?” Margo pulled the covers down to his waist, taking away his ability to hide.

“No, it really doesn’t.” Quentin surprised himself with his bluntness and his sudden rush of anger. He didn’t need Margo to come into his room and bully him into making up with Eliot. Just a few weeks ago she’d been trying to get him to sleep with Alice, and even if Eliot explained things, he knew there was no way he told the story without some gaps.

“Then why don’t you explain it to me,” Margo said, unphased by his reaction. In a way that only made him prickle harder. Anyone else might flinch or back down or apologize.

“I watched him die,” Quentin said, staring at the sunlight on the ceiling. “I’ve watched him die three times, and every single time no matter how long we had, I never thought it was enough.”

Quentin looked at Margo, who was leaning over him on the bed, her face serious, her hand next to his leg but not quite touching. “And when we came back, I thought I had a chance this time. I thought, wow, maybe the way I feel isn’t so crazy? But he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Oh come on,” Margo stretched her body out, taking over more of the empty part of the bed. “Eliot has been in love with you since your first day at Brakebills. He’s been afraid to admit it, and even now he’s a complete and utter chicken shit when it comes to acting on his feelings.”

“He’s not in love with me,” Quentin said, pulling the blankets up and off and sliding out of bed. “He loves me. Two different things.”

Margo flopped over on her side and went limp on the messy bed. “It’s cute the way you two lie to yourselves.”

“Why are you here Margo?” Quentin pulled a pair of jeans on over his boxers. “You’re not going to change my mind about Eliot.”

“Will you just go talk to him?” she asked.

He ignored the question and changed into a long sleeved henley before slipping on shoes and walking right out of the room to start calling apartments.

==

Quentin moved out a week later. He’d found a studio near the subway, and he’d magicked up a deposit. He had less than two boxes of clothes and no furniture. He did have plenty of books though. Julia made lots of tongue clicks but she helped him pack up his coffee cup, and she gave him a Lyft gift card. Kady let him sleep with Lulu one more night. Penny pretended not to care but he did slip a piece of paper with the netflix password into Quentin’s backpack. Margo complained about the neighborhood being tacky and made a big deal about him getting a tetanus shot before moving day. Eliot just watched quietly. He was still bed bound most of the time, only leaving three days a week for physical therapy. He wasn’t able to help him move, but he did spend an afternoon matching socks. 

Quentin enjoyed the solitude at first. But after a few weeks he found he missed the noise and the company. It was nice having someone to laugh at tv shows with or mumble while coffee brewed. He missed taking Lulu to the park. It was strange coming home to an empty apartment, the place cold and dark. 

He sunk into a isolated depression. Instead of feeling reckless and daring, he felt like he was treading quicksand. He hadn’t been sleeping, but now he just stayed in a waking stupor. 

But he liked the quiet. He liked the solitude and being able to walk around in his pajamas and watch whatever he wanted and eat over the sink to avoid dishes and skip showers and bury himself in blankets while reading Lord of the Rings. The Fillory books had lost their luster. He left his place to shop, visit Julia, and get his mail, but that was about it. He lived off ramen noodles and take out. He watched his apartment fill with garbage, and he couldn’t make himself care. 

==

On the way to the library he saw a woman standing beside a box of squirming kittens. Usually it was the kind of thing that he would glance at once and then keep walking, but today it made him stop and take a closer look. There were about five kittens in the box, squeaking and rolling around together. 

“How much?” he asked, rubbing the head of one particularly sweet black one.

“Free,” she said. “You’ll have to get her spayed and vaccinated though.”

Quentin picked up the tiny kitten and studied her. Her tiny claws held tight to his t-shirt and she nosed his chin. He’d never had a pet before. His mother was allergic to cats. He hadn’t wanted to take care of anything, not even a houseplant, but the tiny kitten seemed to be asking him to. 

“I’ll take her,” he said before he had time to change his mind. 

After a netflix binge he named her Salem. He made her a litter box in the bathroom and a bed in his living room, but she preferred to sleep next to him, tucked behind his knees or right up next to his face. Her loud purring was soothing and stroking her fur helped when he was feeling overwhelmed. 

Having Salem to care for was comforting in a way. It made the apartment feel bigger, and even just the noise of her jumping off the couch or attacking her scratching post made it feel like someone else was home. He liked that feeling. 

He went over to Kady’s to visit Julia and to eat the pizza she’d ordered. Lulu sniffed him suspiciously. When he mentioned he now had a cat, Penny let out a loud snort.

“Single girls and their cats.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Julia said, smiling. “Do you have any pics?”

He was slow to admit it, but he did. He had an embarrassing amount of cat pics of his phone. Julia and Alice oohed and awed over the pictures of her playing with a cat toy and meowing loudly at his door. He even saw a smile on Penny’s face. They fed him pizza and asked him questions. He argued over the remote with Julia and drank beers with Kady, and even smoked a bowl with Josh. There was a part of him that was secretly disappointed that Eliot stayed in his room the entire time, but then he’d been avoiding him since their blowup. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He felt good about getting out of his dark little apartment, but needing to feed Salem kept him from staying out too late or getting drunk and passing out on Kady’s floor. 

He started opening the windows to his apartment to let more fresh air in. He had to change Salem’s litter to keep the cat smell to a minimum, and he started taking his garbage out more regularly as well. He was remembering what it was like to live in a clean environment. He took Salem to the vet for shots, and spoiled her with canned food and treats. He even spent an entire day trying to put together a 3 tier cat condo before giving in and facetiming with Alice for a spell to put the damn thing together. It was nice having something else to focus on besides how much he hated himself. 

==

Someone was knocking at the door and Quentin wasn’t expecting anyone, so he’d planned to ignore it and hope they’d go away. But the knocks wouldn’t stop, so Quentin pulled himself up of the couch and trudged over to see what was so urgent.

Quentin didn’t expect to see Eliot standing there. His first reaction was happiness, because no matter what, Quentin still wanted to see him. His second reaction was a desire to slam the door.

But Eliot didn’t give him a chance. He spoke before Quentin could say all the things he wanted to say, before he could tell him to leave.

“Peaches and plums, motherfucker,” Eliot said, shoving Quentin backward. “Tell me that doesn’t mean anything.”

“You do not get to throw that in my face,” Quentin said, catching his footing. 

“I fought like hell to get back to you,” Eliot said. “I humbled myself, I apologized. What more do you want from me?”

Quentin felt the words hit him and he dug in his heels. “I don’t want anything. You don’t get it.”

“Help me understand,” Eliot said, closing the gap between them. It was times like this, when they were face to face, that Quentin was reminded of their height difference. He knew Eliot was older, smarter, stronger, but it was these times when he really felt it. He wasn’t scared, or even intimidated, but it just added to the feeling of a child throwing a temper tantrum. Quentin gritted his teeth and maintained eye contact. He wanted to hate Eliot, but instead he found his defenses start to crumble. 

“You barge into my place, uninvited,” he started to say.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” Eliot interrupted. 

Quentin wanted to push him away, but he couldn’t do it. His senses were being taken over by Eliot. He was close enough that Quentin could smell him. It wasn’t the dirty, unwashed, almost earthy smell of the monster, it was the way he remembered Eliot smelling during his first year at Brakebills. A bit musky, like expensive after shave, and the slightest bit of alcohol and smoke around the edges. It was the way Eliot smelled in his memories, and Quentin felt something inside him that he’d thought was dead. 

Eliot’s face changed from stern contemplation to gentle concern. “Q?”

Was he supposed to answer a question? What were they even talking about? So much time had passed between the last time they spoke. Was he supposed to be mad? He wasn’t even sure how he felt. 

Quentin didn’t pull away from him, even though it seemed like the right move. He wanted so badly to storm off and make a scene, but there was also a part of him that wanted to melt into Eliot’s arms and stay there. 

Eliot put his hand around Quentin’s neck and stroked the short hairs there. It made Quentin miss his longer hair. He remembered the way Eliot liked to comb his fingers through it, letting it slide through his fingers over and over. Eliot’s own hair was so wild and curly, you couldn’t run your fingers through it easily, and the difference seemed to be fascinating to him. Eliot had a thing for his hair, and the back of his neck, and Quentin could feel it under his own skin, the longing. When Eliot touched him like this, it was electric. 

Eliot tightened his grip on Quentin’s neck, and lowered his face. They were close enough he could smell toothpaste on Eliot’s breath. He hated himself for letting his body betray him, for letting his stupid heart make him into a fool, always a fool.

“Q,” Eliot whispered. “I know you feel this.”

Quentin put his hand on Eliot’s chest, as if he was going to push him away, but he didn’t apply any extra pressure. He tilted his head up. He’d wanted to be close to Eliot for so long, even before the monster had taken over. 

_Go be life-partners with someone else._

Quentin closed his eyes. Eliot’s words bounced around in his head, and he squeezed the hand against his chest, feeling Eliot’s silk shirt bunch up under his hand. He wanted to hurt Eliot, wanted to make him hurt the same way Eliot had hurt him. 

“Eliot, I--” he stared, opening his eyes, but it was too late. Eliot was less than an inch away, and their heads were coming together. Eliot kissed him hard, the hand behind his neck holding him in place and Quentin’s forgotten left hand grabbed at Eliot’s shoulder, pulling them chest to chest. Quentin felt completely flattened, all the breath punched out of him, and like the only thing holding him up, was Eliot’s hand behind his neck. Eliot’s other hand had come to slide around his waist, and they kissed again, hard and violent and less about lips and more about pressing their bodies into each other and almost forcing themselves together, trying to get as close as they possibly could. 

Quentin gasped as Eliot’s lips traveled down his neck, and as Eliot pulled his shirt away from his neck to get at the skin around his collarbones. Eliot broke their kiss only long enough so they could pull Quentin’s shirt over his head, and then they worked together, fingers stalling at unbuttoning Eliot’s silk shirt until he made a few quick flicks of his fingers and the whole thing slipped off. 

Then they were moving towards the couch, shirtless, kissing and crashing into each other, almost breathless with it.

Quentin fell to his back on the couch, and watched Eliot loom over him, his face flushed and his hair wild. He looked like a strange amalgamation of all the Eliot’s Quentin had ever known. Eliot crawled on top of him, kissed him again, and Quentin felt very fragile beneath him, like if he wasn’t careful, Eliot would grind him to dust.

He gasped as Eliot bit him once at the juncture of neck and shoulder, and he grabbed Eliot’s hand that was headed to the waistband of his pants. He shuddered and broke their kiss, then sat himself up against the armrest.

“Stop, wait,” he said, gathering his wits as much as he could.

Eliot was panting and he rolled over next to him, looking pained. “What?”

“This is wrong,” Quentin said. 

Eliot let out a groan. “Now you tell me.” But there was softness in his voice. They sat side by side on Quentin’s $250 IKEA loveseat, a couch so uncomfortable that Quentin usually made himself a bed on the floor out of pillows for watching tv.

“I’m still mad at you,” Quentin said. 

“But…” Eliot shifted awkwardly, then stopped when Quentin looked at him. “It felt like there was a ‘but’ coming.”

“But I guess I’m willing to work on it?” Quentin said with a shrug. “Work through my anger while we..”

“Fuck?” Eliot filled in with a smile.

“Among other things,” Quentin said, relaxing a little. 

Eliot squirmed. “How do you sit on this thing? It’s horrible.”

“It’s all I could afford,” Quentin explained.

“You’re a really bad magician,” Eliot said struggling to get up without his cane. He rolled his eyes and made a few tuts. “Transmutation spell. Turns a five hundred dollar couch into a two grand one. I’m sure we’ll need it for your bed, shower and kitchen.”

 

== 

“I’m not supposed to smoke,” Eliot said when Quentin showed him the tiny balcony off his bedroom after their short tour of the apartment. He already had two cigarettes in his hand. Quentin let Eliot lean on him for support, while he lit them each a cigarette. Flame always came quickly to his fingers.

“What are you doing?” Eliot asked as Quentin patted his bandaged abdomen.

“Just making sure it didn’t get...damaged,” Quentin said. His cheeks were a little pink.

“I’d know if I’d torn a stitch,” Eliot said, looking down. He hadn’t fully buttoned his shirt, and his stomach was visible. The skin around the bandage was bruised and angry and just looking at it made Quentin wince. It had healed since he’d last seen it but it still had a long while to go.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “I could get you a pain killer...?”

“You’re very sweet, but I’m just fine right here.” Eliot straightened up and steadied himself on Quentin’s arm. 

“It hurts,” he said after a minute. “But it also feels good, you know? Because I can feel it.”

They stood there silently for a few minutes, watching the sun go down, until Quentin started to shiver. 

“Do you want to stay the night?” Quentin asked, once they’d come back inside, and Quentin had started a pot of hot water for tea. He hadn’t been expecting guests and he had no food, no coffee and a lack of dining room table. But he’d make do. Salem was rubbing Eliot’s legs and purring loudly, and he reached down to stroke her back. 

“Julia said you had a cat.” Eliot was grinning. “She suits you.” 

Quentin poured him a cup of tea in the Garfield mug and wondered if he was going to answer the question. Mid pour, Eliot leaned up and kissed Quentin softly, and he almost poured hot water in Eliot’s lap. 

“And yes, I do want to stay the night.”

==

Eliot insisted on making dinner, sending Quentin to the corner market with a list of ingredients for a $5 pasta and a $20 bottle of wine. They ate and talked, sitting on his new couch, and exchanging shy kisses when the conversation lapsed. The mood in the apartment had changed, and Quentin felt at home for the first time since he’d moved in. 

Eliot started to yawn after a few hours, and Quentin insisted he turn in, despite Eliot’s protests. Quentin helped him into bed, taking time to fluff the pillow. Quentin watched as he grimaced and hissed as he rolled onto his back. Quentin had let Eliot make some adjustments to the bed, which included a more supportive mattress and a better pillow.

“Comfy?” Quentin asked, watching Eliot squirm. He reached in and loosened the blankets closest to his body. Eliot laid still for a moment, and Quentin watched him relax into the bed. He’d turned off the lights except for a lamp on the nightstand. It illuminated Eliot’s face, giving him a haunted look. Eliot was looking at the picture of Quentin’s dad he’d put up to make the walls less bare.

“That’s my dad,” he offered, realizing they’d never met, and then that they never would. 

“I thought so,” Eliot said, looking up at him. “Ted, right?”

“Yeah.” Quentin had told Eliot stories about his dad, some in this timeline, some forgotten. He’d always thought the two of him would like each other. 

“I’m sorry, you must miss him a lot,” Eliot said after a short beat. His eyes traveled around the room like he was looking for something else to comment on. Instead he looked straight up at the ceiling.

“I miss Teddy,” Eliot said. 

Quentin wasn’t going to get into bed with him just yet, but now he felt like he had to. Eliot had never talked about Teddy, even though Quentin wished he would. There were times when he ached for his son, times when he thought about Teddy, and his granddaughters, and Arielle and the longing he felt was immeasurable. It didn’t seem possible to want someone who technically never existed. Those were the times that Quentin had felt so alone, and he’d felt like there was no one else in the world that could possibly understand. Except Eliot.

“I miss him too,” Quentin said. Eliot reached over and put a hand on Quentin’s arm.

Eliot murmured, “I used to think I saw him everywhere in Fillory.”

“And what about our granddaughters?” he asked. “Maureen, Tabitha and…”

“Ari,” Eliot finished. “Whenever I see a girl with long reddish hair and a button nose I think about her.”

“Me too,” Quentin closed his eyes for a moment and thought about his granddaughters. The last day he’d seen them, the three of them had surrounded his easy chair and they’d braided flowers into his beard while Teddy and June cooked his dinner. He went to bed that night and never woke up again. 

Quentin’s memories of the mosaic were clearest at the beginning of their time, and again at the end. Much of the middle felt like episodes of tv shows he’d seen but couldn’t remember specific details about. 

“Do you think they might be out there somewhere?” Eliot wondered. “Maybe a great-grandniece or a cousin?”

“I like to think so,” Quentin said. He cuddled up closer to Eliot, and neither of them spoke for a few minutes, long enough Quentin started to think Eliot had fallen asleep. He flicked the lamp off and closed his own eyes, knowing he might not be able to sleep, but also not wanting to leave the bed.

“Q,” Eliot said, startling him. “I have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” Quentin opened his eyes. Eliot was lying on his side, facing him, a slight wince on his face, not sure if it was because of his injuries or whatever he wanted to tell Quentin.

“I’m in love with you,” he said.

Quentin gulped. If he hadn’t been lying in bed, his knees might have buckled.

“I loved you before the mosaic, I just didn’t know how to tell you, then I almost lost you, and then I did lose you so--”

Eliot stopped, brushed hair out of Quentin’s face. “I just wanted you to know.”

Quentin buried his face in Eliot’s chest and breathed. His face felt hot and his hands were numb. His heart was beating fast and he was on the verge of hyperventilating. He couldn’t speak.

Salem seemed to have a sense about these things, and introduced herself to the room, jumping on the bed and making her way between them to meow at Eliot and purr loudly in Quentin’s face. He scratched her black ears and did his best to breathe slowly. 

“She seems to know when I’m freaking out,” Quentin said once he got his breathing under control. He already felt better, and was starting to laugh.

“I tell you I’m in love with you and you panic?” Eliot said, a lilt to his voice. 

“Yes,” was all Quentin could say back. Kissing Eliot wasn’t good for his heart rate but it was a great grounding technique. 

==

The next morning, it was strange to wake up with someone in his bed. Eliot was still sleeping peacefully, and Quentin took a moment to stare at him before he crept out of bed. He got up and fed the cat, then changed her litter. Quentin went about his usual routine, making coffee, eating a bowl of oatmeal, cleaning up the dishes from the night before. 

“Hey,” a voice broke him out of his trance. It was Eliot, looking sweetly disheveled. 

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about something else,” Eliot said, taking a seat beside him. “In the Waugh family we were raised that there is nothing a beer and a hunting trip can’t fix. At Brakebills I thought my problems could be solved by hot co-eds and a large number of hallucinogens. But I’m finding that spending months inside a monster’s mind prison is something that no amount of cock and mood altering substances is gonna get me over.”

Quentin nodded and wrapped a hand around his waist. “What are you gonna do? I’ve got some great d&d campaigns that got me through freshman year.”

Eliot laughed and pulled a business card out of his pocket. 

Quentin studied the card, looking for a secret clue or something other than the standard fare, phone number, office hours, address. _Dr. Gloria Marion, Licensed Psychologist._

“I’m seeing this doctor once a week,” Eliot told him. “She’s really good. And I think you should see her too.”

Quentin couldn’t help but frown. “El, I don’t think you realize, I’ve seen doctors before, I’ve done it all. I’ve tried every combination of meds...”

“Please,” Eliot reached up to cup his face. “She’s also a magician, she knows about all the crazy shit we go through. She understands. I think it would help you. I feel like you need someone to talk to.”

“I have plenty of people to talk to,” Quentin said, turning the business card over and pushing it back. 

Eliot smirked and put two fingers on top of Quentin’s hand, stopping him. “I don’t see you talking to anyone, for starters. But you need someone like Gloria, who is an outside perspective, who doesn’t have the history that you and me or you and Julia have. And she’s amazing, I mean I told her about killing a man over the difference between sprinkles and jimmies and she didn’t bat an eye. This is the kind of therapist you need.”

“I don’t know…” Quentin held his hand over the card, letting it hover a few inches above the table. “Can’t I just do nothing?”

Eliot got up off the stool and walked up behind Quentin, wrapping his arms around him in a big hug. Quentin let out a little oof as his insides were squashed, and he only struggled for a minute before giving into the warmth of the hug.

“I love you,” Eliot said. “I need you in the best shape possible, mentally and physically. We’re gonna be the most disgusting couple and we’re gonna need the therapy to survive the farmer’s market.”

==

Having a magical therapist took a little getting used to. But it was also refreshing not having to lie or leave things out. Dr. Gloria was younger than he expected and she was a former Brakebills student. She was a good listener and she was very big on journaling, which explained why Eliot had suddenly started writing in a little blue notebook all the time. She also insisted he start taking his meds, and frowned deeply when he mentioned that Dean Fogg had been the one to stop him originally. She compared it to Van Gogh painting some of his best works while in a mental hospital, and insisted that his magic would only benefit if he was medicated.

After a hard session, he usually took the long way home, and walked through the park and skipped stones on the lake. On weekends, the park was full of booths and people for the farmer’s market. On those days, Quentin would skip the park and spend some time in the second hand bookstore next to the therapist office. Crowds had always made him uncomfortable. The pushy people, and noise rattled him, especially when he’d just gotten out of an hour long session talking about his not-boyfriend trying to kill him and letting his ex-girlfriend timeshare his body for 30 minutes a day. Dr. G had just scribbled something on her notepad and asked for more details about Niffin!Alice. He was starting to think she was unflappable. 

In a way, it was comforting knowing that even though his issues were stranger than the average person’s, his depression was the same brand that most other depressed people had to deal with. He’d always felt that everything was so much harder for him than it was for everyone else. It seemed like Julia and James didn’t have the same crippling fears that he did. He didn’t know anyone else that couldn’t bear to leave their apartment for weeks on end. He figured he was just weak, and everyone else had their shit together. Learning that he wasn’t like everyone else was refreshing, and Dr. G really liked to push that he could cope with his broken brain, even if he couldn’t mend it. 

On his next visit, he told her about panicking when Eliot said he was in love with him. 

“It wasn’t a full panic attack,” he explained. “I don’t have those anymore since the meds, but I did start breathing fast and my face felt numb.”

“Why did it make you panic?” she asked, turning a page in her notebook. She let him look at her notes after sessions when he was curious. 

“Because he scared me,” Quentin tried to explain. “When he scares me I either panic or shut down, no in between.”

They talked briefly about how Quentin could deal with future panic, and more of the grounding techniques he could use when it happened again. Then Dr. G turned the conversation back to Eliot. 

“Are you in love with him?” Dr. Gloria asked. Quentin looked at the books behind her, mostly psychology textbooks, but a few magic books hidden in plain sight. She always gave him lots of time to answer her questions, and so he stared at the books as he gathered his wits.

“Yes,” he said. “I spent a year getting over him but it was no use.”

She smiled at that, and looked down at her watch. “We’ve got less than ten minutes left, why don’t we wrap this up, and I’ve got a journal topic if you’re interested?”

Quentin spent an hour in the bookstore that day, and while he didn’t buy any books, he did give in and bought himself a green journal and a classy looking pen. It was the kind of pen he could see Eliot using, and so that was enough for him. 

He started writing in the journal when he couldn’t sleep, sometimes using the assigned prompts, and other times just using it as a place to dump his thoughts. There were times he chucked the book halfway across the room mid sentence, and then there were times he ripped the pages out and incinerated them with a flick of his fingers. Dr. G was merely happy he was listening to her, which he tried to downplay. He was still getting used to trusting doctors. 

Having Eliot over a few times a week was a nice change. He enjoyed getting out of Kady’s, and out from under Margo’s thumb. Eliot cooked for him, they talked about their friends, or Fillory, or therapy. They watched movies on Quentin’s laptop while sharing his bed. They kissed for what felt like hours, and got each other off in all kinds of configurations. 

There were issues that felt tender between them, and they didn’t always know how to talk about them. Quentin still had bad days when he wanted to run and hide and Eliot occasionally had to stop in the middle of sex when the pain got too great or when his body betrayed him in one of a handful of humiliating ways. On those nights Eliot would get very quiet and call for a Lyft. Quentin knew better than to do anything other than the magic to help him get dressed. Quentin would text Margo to make sure he got home okay. After a few of these events, Margo sent Quentin a bottle of Eliot’s painkillers and the same sleeping pills she recommended he take. 

“Spoon him and give him one of each,” she instructed. “I can’t have him cock blocking me with Hoberman any longer.”

The next time it happened, Eliot got up to go home but Quentin offered him the bottle instead. Eliot and Quentin ate cold pizza in his kitchen so Eliot could take his meds, both barefoot and topless. Quentin let his hands wander over Eliot’s bare torso, and neither flinched when he brushed his fingertips over what was becoming a scar. 

==

After a Saturday visit with Dr. G, Quentin was gonna go peruse the bookshelves when a familiar figure in the waiting room caught his eye. It was Eliot, reading last May’s People magazine. Quentin smiled as he lowered the magazine and stood up.

“Do you have an appointment?” he asked.

Eliot shook his head. “I was hoping I could escort you home, and maybe we could take a slight detour through the park.”

Quentin hesitated. He wasn’t sure he was ready for so much human interaction, but he also saw the excitement in Eliot’s face and that made him want to go. 

He nodded and followed Eliot out. He still walked a little slow, but he didn’t use a cane any longer. Quentin didn’t mind walking at his pace. If anything he enjoyed it. It allowed him to take in his surroundings and enjoy the walk. Now that he was coming out of his fog, he was starting to appreciate the view a little more every day. 

“I was thinking we could get some lettuce and tomatoes, maybe a head of broccoli,” Eliot said. “I want to make the girls dinner. I’ve got a recipe for broccoli cheese soup that Bambi said is better than sex.”

“Sure,” Quentin said. He’d never gotten this close to the farmer’s market, and the crowd had already started to swell around them. He was starting to get a little anxious when he felt Eliot reach out and grab his hand.

“So I don’t lose you,” Eliot mumbled. Quentin just held on tight, and let Eliot guide him. They tried samples of honey, chocolate cake, smelled candles and Quentin started to relax. He helped Eliot begin filling bags with fresh vegetables.

“Julia likes smoothies,” Quentin said, making his way to the fruit stands.

“Would you like to try our peaches?” The woman standing at the booth was friendly and kind. She sliced the peach on a cutting board before offering him a sample on a toothpick.

Quentin took it, and the taste that hit him felt like getting a card trick right after struggling for weeks. It was more than just a piece of fresh fruit. It felt good. The noise and chaos of the crowd didn’t even bother him. He was happy.

When Eliot kissed him a few minutes later, after they’d filled their arms with purchases and they were waiting on a corner for their Lyft, it tasted better than anything he’d ever known. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta Declan for all the help with this, even though I know you don't really go here. <3 you.


End file.
